Chapter 2

“What is this about?”

“The traffic collision on Cuiping Road in the south of the city last night. Someone has identified you as the driver.”

I stood in the doorway in my pajamas, my hair loose.

Warm air drifted out of the apartment. A cold draft blew in from the hall.

“I was home all evening.”

“We’ll discuss it at the station.”

I had no choice.

I changed, took my ID, and slipped my phone into my coat pocket.

On my way out, I glanced at the peephole across the hall. It was dark. No one was watching.

The police car was parked downstairs. I sat in the back.

Nobody spoke on the way.

At the station, they took me into an office. It wasn’t an interrogation room, but the door was shut.

The older officer poured a cup of water and set it in front of me.

“Walk us through your movements last night.”

“I went home after work. Bought groceries on the way. Got home around six thirty. Cooked, ate, washed the dishes, took a shower. Got a phone call sometime after nine. Went to bed at ten.”

“Who called?”

“My mother.”

The younger officer was taking notes.

“What did you talk about?”

“Family matters.”

“Could you be more specific?”

I picked up the cup. The water was still warm.

“She told me to take the blame for my brother. For the case you’re investigating. I refused.”

The two officers exchanged a look.

The older one leafed through the papers on the desk.

“Zhao Yanqing, let me explain the situation. At ten forty last night, a white car hit a pedestrian on Cuiping Road in the south of the city and left the scene. At two this morning, your brother, Zhao Yanwen, came to the station to turn himself in. But in his statement, he said you were driving.”

I held the cup.

Looking down, I saw that the water was perfectly still.

“He says he was in the passenger seat. You were driving. He couldn’t stop you. After you hit the pedestrian, you panicked, drove off, and left him at the roadside.”

I set the cup down.

“Whose car?”

“It’s registered to Zhao Yanwen.”

“I don’t have a driver’s license.”

They looked at each other again.

The younger officer checked the file. “Our records show a Class C1 license in your name. Issued after you passed the test in 2021.”

That stopped me.

For two seconds.

“I’ve never taken a driving test.”

The older officer slid a photocopy across the desk.

The face on the license was mine.

But I knew that photograph. It had been taken for my ID card three years earlier. My mother had told me to have a few extra prints made, in case we needed them.

I stared at it.

“I didn’t apply for this.”

“We can investigate that. But right now, we have someone identifying you, as well as physical evidence. We need your cooperation.”

“What physical evidence?”

“A copy of your ID in the glove compartment. A pair of women’s sneakers in the trunk.”

I could hear myself breathing.

Sneakers.

Last month, for my mother’s birthday, my sister-in-law had called and asked me to send some shoes home. She said my mother’s feet hurt and she wanted soft soles. I bought two pairs. One was for my mother; the other was an old pair of my own. My sister-in-law said they were the right size and asked me to include them.

“I need to make a call.”

“You can. Once we’ve finished taking your statement.”

I sat back against the chair.

It was daylight outside. The fluorescent lights were still on, buzzing.

They had been preparing for this for a long time.

It hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment idea.

The statement took two hours.

Every detail came up three times. I answered three times. When. Where. My call history. Which grocery store. What I had cooked. What time I had showered.

The older officer went out once. When he came back, something in his expression had changed.

“Zhao Yanqing, you said you got home at six thirty last night. Would your residential compound’s access records confirm that?”

“Yes. Entry uses facial recognition.”

“All right. We’ll get those records. Wait here for a while.”

The door closed.

I was alone in the office.

The clock on the wall read nine seventeen.

I took out my phone and switched it on.

Twenty-three missed calls.

Eleven from my mother.

Seven from my brother.

Three from my eldest aunt.

Two from unknown numbers.

Over ninety WeChat messages.

I didn’t open them. I made a call instead.

Mr. Zhou from property management answered.

“Mr. Zhou, it’s Zhao Yanqing, Unit 602, Building 18. Could you check the facial-recognition access logs for my building, from six last night to six this morning?”